


do remake my ruined life for me.

by projectfreelancer



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 03:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectfreelancer/pseuds/projectfreelancer
Summary: jacob has learned to control certain impulses, but jack is keen on undoing his process.





	do remake my ruined life for me.

**Author's Note:**

> Getting into Syndicate 3 years late is a mood. I have no clue what AC Syndicate's timeline really is or how old Jack/Jacob was when Jacob took him in. But Jack gets older with every different excerpt in the fic, so there's that. Also slight warning since Jacob did know him as a child so maybe it's weird for you that he develops feelings for him when he's older. This is the video game version of Jack The Ripper so it's a bit hard to know where exactly to draw the line here. Also my take on Jacob was inspired by someone's long analysis post on how his character development changes a lot from Syndicate to DLC.
> 
> The ages by the end in my mind would be:  
> Jacob: 40s-late 40s  
> Jack: early 20s

He has learned self control in his old age. Recklessness and impulsiveness still breath in his body, but he has taught himself how to suppress those instincts when it is necessary. Naive twenty-one year old Jacob had received a Judas-kiss slick with blood by his first love while the world burned down around him. “Why not?” the man had asked with his last exhale. And when Jacob stood outside the Alhambra, lungs full of black and smoldering smoke, not sure if he was thankful or not to have not died at the side of Maxwell Roth, Jacob learned to age with control. That, and so much more, did Roth teach him.

Not much had tested his newfound sense of maturity as he aged. No one until Jack. When he had taken the boy into his care, he saw a part of himself in him. He felt it his responsibility, his redemption, to house him, train him, teach him everything he knows. Jack did not always make it easy to do so.

 

—

 

The boy questions the Creed often. It makes Jacob nostalgic for memories of his own youth and how he had done the same years ago. Had backtalked to his father, to Evie, rolled his eyes at the weight the Creed was on the other assassins’ shoulders. But Jack becomes relentless, extreme at times, even accusatory,  _ Where were you all at when they killed my mother _ , and Jacob fears his instinct will become to lash out at the boy as Evie or his father once had. He has no intention of recreating the past, tries his best to push down his impulses, only listens to Jack because no one else has.

 

— 

 

Jacob’s rash urge is to always win, to always come out on top, no matter what the stakes may be. He has learned to understand life comes with wins and losses, far more losses than wins, and his ego is less likely-bruised than it would be years ago. With Jack, however, it is different as the boy makes everything different.

Jack learns swiftly in his training. He progresses far ahead of all the other initiates though they gossip it is only because he has the special attention of Jacob. Jacob would disagree: he knows this lifestyle is inside of Jack, a now-tapped potential leaking through. He is agile, quick on his feet, silent in the shadows. He thinks before every minute action. Jacob gives him well-deserved praises which only seems to make Jack strive to prove to them both he can be better, better than  _ good job, you are talented, you may become a master assassin far younger than I had. _

But it is when they practice hand-to-hand combat that Jacob’s instincts are tested. The boy is vigilant, always a watchful eye, daggers always at the ready. Jacob is older now, still talented at what he does, but knows it is harder. It is easy for Jack to learn his tricks, track his style of movement, always expecting the next strike. And the boy takes it too far, too often. It is supposed to just be practice, daggers falling inches away from skin they would hypothetically puncture if the scenario was real. But Jack will pin him against the floor, the wall, the door, only inches shorter than Jacob now, dagger brushing the skin of Jacob’s neck. Jacob’s breath would stumble, and Jack’s smile was as sharp as the knife on his throat.

It takes everything in Jacob to hold himself back, to remember he is his responsibility, to ignore his mind chanting,  _ kill him you must win he cannot get away with this. _

He simply feels a smile respond on his lips. “You’ve gotten better.”

 

—

 

Jack tests his self-control more when he is older than he had ever done. Jack grows to fit into his body well, toned and scarred from years of training and missions alongside Jacob. His tongue is more quick-witted, another reminder to Jacob of his youth. But the worst part of it all is how Jack looks at him now.

He looks at him as if he wants to devour him. He seems to be wherever Jacob is, be it outside or inside their shared home. As if he must be near Jacob, or he will simply not exist. Jacob wonders if he has developed a sixth sense for distinguishing the feeling of Jack’s eyes following him. When they train, Jack looks at him like he is hungry. When they sit side-by-side to research together, Jack looks at him like he is starving. And when they argue over the Creed, Jacob’s skin flush with annoyance, Jack invading his personal space as they debate, Jack looks at him like he is in ecstasy. 

It reminds him of Roth: hungry, fanatical, dangerous eyes. The two men are nothing alike, not really, besides how they both look at Jacob in such a specific way. And it brings back haunting memories for a while: when he falls asleep, he has dreams of Roth’s eyes on him, always wanting more, always prying, always paying attention to Jacob as if the world was simply a stage and Jacob were the lead role. It brings back the taste of blood in his mouth, smoke in his lungs, hands in his hair, lips on his own. It brings back the way Roth had caressed him in their shared bed, the pet names, the knowing glances, the Alhambra up in flames alongside Jacob’s torn heart.

On worst nights, Jacob falls asleep thinking of Jack’s eyes on him, and the thoughts do not disappear in his dreams. There is Jack watching him while he tries to strike him. There is Jack watching him as he gives commands to his Rooks. There is Jack on his knees, those eyes wide-fucking-open, even as Jack’s hands curl against Jacob’s thigh, even as Jack— 

Jacob wakes up feeling raw, sweating, burnt out. There’s an aching inside him that makes him feel revolted. He has seen the boy grow up after he had rescued him from the asylum, seen him through his training, trusted him with his home and food and comfort—  

Jacob feels nausea rise in his stomach, bubbling and bitter. He had put trust in Jack, but Jack has also put trust into him as well. He’d probably be sick at the thoughts running through his mentor’s mind, only seeing Jacob as a mentor, a man years older than himself. And it’s not as if Jacob has only thought of these times once. When Jack had turned nineteen, when Jacob and his Rooks had taken the boy to a local pub to indulge in alcohol, he watched as Jack became drunk and flushed in the face, finally losing a bit of his normal posture. Jacob watched with a close eye. Watched as Jack laughed louder than normal. Watched as a young Rook like Jack himself had tried to put his hands on the boy, a motion and intent that Jacob is familiar with. Had pulled Jack away, demanding that the celebration should be over and how they should go home. Had ignored how Jack’s hands dragged across his coat, across his hair, his neck, Jack laughing the entire time. Had put the boy safely to bed before finding his own bed, ignoring the aching inside him. This was his apprentice and just because the boy was older now did not negate the fact he was trusted in his care, and Jacob had worked hard to repress his impulses.

Since that night, years had passed, Jack now the age Jacob was when he had entered London, and Jacob either tries to ignore the way he feels when Jack looks at him as if he may be his prey. Or, such as nights like these, he lets it get the best of him, and he will slip his hands down his pajama pants and pretend he does not imagine Jack’s eyes when he finishes.

 

— 

 

His self-control can only go so far, and Jacob has limits himself. 

“The Creed is not what it should be,” Jack is saying, voice vibrant, confident. Jacob would be impressed if not for the subject matter.

A sigh slips past his lips. The day had already been harsh on Jacob: a failed mission, the house generator’s broken, and now Jack trying his best to hit his already frayed nerves. “The Creed,” Jacob begins, “Serves a purpose.”

“Oh, really?” Jack asks, sarcasm evident on his tongue.  _ Damn his quick wit, _ Jacob thinks, wondering if Evie had that same thought over him—or rather how many times she had exactly. Jack continues, “Then where were they when Templars killed my mother?” 

Jacob knows he must tread the subject carefully. Jack had experienced so much trauma from his mother’s death, and he does not wish to make light of it. “Jack, I promise you that had I been there, I would have given my life to protect hers.”

Something in Jack seems to break, tears falling from his eyes, and Jacob worries he has said the wrong thing because he has not seen the man cry in years. But then Jack is pushing him against a wall, and for a second, Jacob wonders if history will repeat himself, and he will be the one choking on the blade of someone he loves. But no knives touch his neck. Jack has him pinned in place, and all he does is press his lips to Jacob’s own. And that alone makes Jacob jump in surprise,  _ this is not the history that was supposed to repeat. _

And something in Jacob snaps: has been waiting to snap since Jack came into his life and had fought against everything Jacob had tried so hard to teach himself. Had this been months, years, even a day ago, Jacob would have pushed the man away, knowing it’d be the best choice for the both of them. But all Jacob is capable of is kissing back.

 

— 

 

They do not speak of it. For that, Jacob is grateful.  _ If he mentions it, I may be ruined, _ because Jacob has already been so ruined by Jack, and he does not want to think of how he, Jack, both of them are doomed but now they are doomed together.

They do not mention it, but every night Jack comes into his room and does not leave until it is morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope the characterization makes sense and it at least vaguely resembles the pre-DLC plot.


End file.
